Why I have children...

I totally pinched this from the Rants From Mommyland Blog because after waking up at 3am completely drenched from night-sweats, after about 4 hrs of sleep, knowing that I have to work and deal with customers all day, this made me spray my computer with coffee and giggle while I cleaned it up.  I can totally see my two witchlets having this argument.

The Scene: 9:15pm. A dark and cool house in suburbia. Two children,  J (age 8) and K (age 4) are "asleep" upstairs. All the lights are out in the house and Dad is desperate to have a beer and watch Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Mom is at a Board Meeting.

Dad is reclined on the coach, when he hears the gentle creek of the stairs. J is creeping downstairs. Dad gets up and meets her in the darkened foyer.

Dad: What's up, sweetheart?

J: I can't sleep. My pillow smells like vagina.

Dad: (*blink*)

The house is dead silent as the two stare at one another for a seeming eternity that lasts all of 5 seconds.

Dad: Excuse me?

J: My pillow smells like K's vagina.

Dad: (*blink*)

J: (breathlessly) K took of all of her clothes and touched herself and didn't wash her hands and then touched my pillow and now I can't sleep because my pillow smells like vagina.

Dad: (meekly) Go to bed.

J: (exasperated) Daaaad! I can't. It stinks.

Dad: Let's go to your room.

The two march upstairs, J leading the way while Dad follows behind, wondering just how the hell he found himself in this situation, and how was he going to resolve it.

They enter the bedroom, where J ups the ante. She removes the pillow from the bed and thrusts it at Dad.

J: Smell it.

Dad: (scared shitless and flustered) I don't think that's necessary, just go to bed (he's pleading now).

J: (yelling) I CAN'T SLEEP WITH MY PILLOW SMELLING LIKE VAGINA!

A high pitched, shrieking voice comes out of the darkness. K has awoken.

K: (screaming defensively) I DON'T HAVE A SMELLY VAGINA!

Both girls begin shouting over one another

J: Wash your hands!

K: I DID.

J: Did not. Don't touch my pillow!

K: I didn't touch myself.

J: You're not allowed on my bed. You're not a good wiper.

As the situation devolves, Dad lifts the offending pillow to his face, and proceeds to do something heretofore unimaginable. He sniffs.


Dad: (thankfully) Smells like Downy.

J: It does not

K: Apologize!

J grabs the pillow and methodically sniffs all four corners of the pillow, like a drug sniffing dog.

J: It smelled a minute ago.

From the darkness:

K: SAY YOU'RE SORRY!

Dad: Both of you go to bed right now, and I am telling your mother.

Both girls go to bed, and Dad slinks back down to the couch, thoroughly shaken and perhaps permanently scarred.  The end.

Best poem ever

The Mountain Whippoorwill
(Or, How Hill-Billy Jim Won the Great Fiddlers' Prize)
By Stephen Vincent Benet

Up in the mountains, it's lonesome all the time,
(Sof' win' slewin' thu' the sweet-potato vine.)
Up in the mountains, it's lonesome for a child,
(Whippoorwills a-callin' when the sap runs wild.)
Up in the mountains, mountains in the fog,
Everythin's as lazy as an old houn' dog.
Born in the mountains, never raised a pet,
Don't want nuthin' an' never got it yet.
Born in the mountains, lonesome-born,
Raised runnin' ragged thu' the cockleburrs and corn.
Never knew my pappy, mebbe never should.
Think he was a fiddle made of mountain laurel-wood.
Never had a mammy to teach me pretty-please.
Think she was a whippoorwill, a-skittin' thu' the trees.
Never had a brother ner a whole pair of pants,
But when I start to fiddle, why, yuh got to start to dance!
Listen to my fiddle -- Kingdom Come -- Kingdom Come!
Hear the frogs a-chunkin' "Jug o' rum, Jug o' rum!"
Hear that mountain whippoorwill be lonesome in the air,
An' I'll tell yuh how I travelled to the Essex County Fair.
Essex County has a mighty pretty fair,
All the smarty fiddlers from the South come there.
Elbows flyin' as they rosin up the bow
For the First Prize Contest in the Georgia Fiddlers' Show.
Old Dan Wheeling, with his whiskers in his ears,
King-pin fiddler for nearly twenty years.
Big Tom Sergeant, with his blue wall-eye,
An' Little Jimmy Weezer that can make a fiddle cry.
All sittin' roun', spittin' high an' struttin' proud,
(Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh better bug yore eyes!)
Tun-a-tun-a-tunin' while the jedges told the crowd
Them that got the mostest claps'd win the bestest prize.
Everybody waitin' for the first tweedle-dee,
When in comes a-stumblin' -- hill-billy me!
Bowed right pretty to the jedges an' the rest,
Took a silver dollar from a hole inside my vest,
Plunked it on the table an' said, "There's my callin' card!
An' anyone that licks me -- well, he's got to fiddle hard!"
Old Dan Wheeling, he was laughin' fit to holler,
Little Jimmy Weezer said, "There's one dead dollar!"
Big Tom Sergeant had a yaller-toothy grin,
But I tucked my little whippoorwill spang underneath my chin,
An' petted it an' tuned it till the jedges said, "Begin!"
Big Tom Sargent was the first in line;
He could fiddle all the bugs off a sweet-potato vine.
He could fiddle down a possum from a mile-high tree,
He could fiddle up a whale from the bottom of the sea.
Yuh could hear hands spankin' till they spanked each other raw,
When he finished variations on "Turkey in the Straw."
Little Jimmy Weezer was the next to play;
He could fiddle all night, he could fiddle all day.
He could fiddle chills, he could fiddle fever,
He could make a fiddle rustle like a lowland river.
He could make a fiddle croon like a lovin' woman.
An' they clapped like thunder when he'd finished strummin'.
Then came the ruck of the bob-tailed fiddlers,
The let's-go-easies, the fair-to-middlers.
They got their claps an' they lost their bicker,
An' they all settled back for some more corn-licker.
An' the crowd was tired of their no-count squealing,
When out in the center steps Old Dan Wheeling.
He fiddled high and he fiddled low,
(Listen, little whippoorwill, yuh got to spread yore wings!)
He fiddled and fiddled with a cherrywood bow,
(Old Dan Wheeling's got bee-honey in his strings).
He fiddled a wind by the lonesome moon,
He fiddled a most almighty tune.
He started fiddling like a ghost.
He ended fiddling like a host.
He fiddled north an' he fiddled south,
He fiddled the heart right out of yore mouth.
He fiddled here an' he fiddled there.
He fiddled salvation everywhere.
When he was finished, the crowd cut loose,
(Whippoorwill, they's rain on yore breast.)
An' I sat there wonderin' "What's the use?"
(Whippoorwill, fly home to yore nest.)
But I stood up pert an' I took my bow,
An' my fiddle went to my shoulder, so.
An' -- they wasn't no crowd to get me fazed --
But I was alone where I was raised.
Up in the mountains, so still it makes yuh skeered.
Where God lies sleepin' in his big white beard.
An' I heard the sound of the squirrel in the pine,
An' I heard the earth a-breathin' thu' the long night-time.
They've fiddled the rose, and they've fiddled the thorn,
But they haven't fiddled the mountain-corn.
They've fiddled sinful an' fiddled moral,
But they haven't fiddled the breshwood-laurel.
They've fiddled loud, and they've fiddled still,
But they haven't fiddled the whippoorwill.
I started off with a dump-diddle-dump,
(Oh, hell's broke loose in Georgia!)
Skunk-cabbage growin' by the bee-gum stump.
(Whippoorwill, yo're singin' now!)
My mother was a whippoorwill pert,
My father, he was lazy,
But I'm hell broke loose in a new store shirt
To fiddle all Georgia crazy.
Swing yore partners -- up an' down the middle!
Sashay now -- oh, listen to that fiddle!
Flapjacks flippin' on a red-hot griddle,
An' hell's broke loose,
Hell's broke loose,
Fire on the mountains -- snakes in the grass.
Satan's here a-bilin' -- oh, Lordy, let him pass!
Go down Moses, set my people free;
Pop goes the weasel thu' the old Red Sea!
Jonah sittin' on a hickory-bough,
Up jumps a whale -- an' where's yore prophet now?
Rabbit in the pea-patch, possum in the pot,
Try an' stop my fiddle, now my fiddle's gettin' hot!
Whippoorwill, singin' thu' the mountain hush,
Whippoorwill, shoutin' from the burnin' bush,
Whippoorwill, cryin' in the stable-door,
Sing tonight as yuh never sang before!
Hell's broke loose like a stompin' mountain-shoat,
Sing till yuh bust the gold in yore throat!
Hell's broke loose for forty miles aroun'
Bound to stop yore music if yuh don['t sing it down.
Sing on the mountains, little whippoorwill,
Sing to the valleys, an' slap 'em with a hill,
For I'm struttin' high as an eagle's quill,
An' hell's broke loose,
Hell's broke loose,
Hell's broke loose in Georgia!
They wasn't a sound when I stopped bowin',
(Whippoorwill, yuh can sing no more.)
But, somewhere or other, the dawn was growin',
(Oh, mountain whippoorwill!)
An' I thought, "I've fiddled all night an' lost,
Yo're a good hill-billy, but yuh've been bossed."
So I went to congratulate old man Dan,
-- But he put his fiddle into my han' --
An' then the noise of the crowd began!

The best poem ever!  Especially when read to me by M just before he tucked me in for a nap

Just my opinion but...

Total win.

Hats off to this teacher.  Instead of complaining about bullying in the classroom, she's FIXING it.  A special friend of mine is also a teacher and I don't think she realizes that she just naturally does this sort of thing as well.  How do I know she does, even though I have never sat through her class?  Because she wouldn't be the person I know she is if she didn't.

Sharing is caring...

Well after about 6 hrs of fucked up nightmares concerning emotions like jealousy, envy and despair, I gave it up and got up.  What was I dreaming about?  Our lovely friend, we'll call her S.
      I need to brain dump this so bear with me OK?  M has seasonal affect disorder which means for about 3 months a year, he tends to hide in his corner under his sun lamp.  When he gets too bad, I say something to him and he is more aware of his actions and takes steps to get out of his corner more, play more, BE with me more.  He's actually doing wonderful with it this year.
     My jealousy isn't stemming from his attention to her, or at least not as much as you might think.  My jealousy is stemming from her attention to HIM.  Yes I'm an idiot.  A couple of notable things: She's straight (mostly), she and I are forging our own relationship as friends, I do get to top her, she's not really switchy other than the throw you under the bus type of switchy.  So what is my problem?  I think it's more about possessiveness than jealousy.  I get everything that he does with the addition of our developing friendship.  I just don't want to share her.  God that's ugly.
     I am the one that does most of the "mentor" things like make sure she takes her vitamins and meds, daily check-ins, maintaining her book, that sort of thing, and I really like doing it.  I try to get over to see her, to get my hands on her even if it's just for a hug at least once a week.  We chat every morning and most evenings on messenger.  I guess it's understandable that when she's actually here, I want some "alone" play time with her but to be honest, play time is more for him.  Cause she's mostly straight.

All the cute ones are either straight or taken.  In this case?  Both.

     I don't want her to feel bad about this, and I'm not trying to change her over.  I could no more make her gay than I could make me straight, and if I'm being honest, this isn't really about sex, and that is what orientation is about, yes?  It's about her time, attention, and affection.  I love how she balances me.  I love how she can get me to do things that I hate, and do them gracefully, not stomping off muttering.  We SHOPPED for crying out loud.  And I didn't even whine much. 
*sigh*
Yeah, yeah, I'll get over my bad self.
I'll share.
Maybe
 

Instruction Manual

Mollena is the fashizzle.

Twas the night before Xmas....

And all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for M and I who were merrily engaged in a beating with him being the beater and me being the beatee.  I was naked and down on our little rocky-stool (footstool to the glider rocker), and M was going for broke, and had been for an hour already.  You see the whole point to this beating was to see if he could actually bruise me.  I don't bruise and I don't swell, which means that when I break something like an ankle or a collarbone, there is no bruising or swelling (I've confounded Dr's for years).  When what to my wondering ears does appear?  The landlord ringing the doorbell with a xmas gift for us.....

Yep...

I set a new land-speed record.  From sub-space to hiding upstairs in the bedroom in less than 2 seconds..

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!